I do many jobs at my local restaurant. Since the health crisis started, I have been doing a lot more answering phones and line work than normal, but hey, anything to cover wages, right?

I have a customer call for delivery at 1:00 pm. I’ve taken his calls before and he’s known to be particular, so I make sure I am VERY clear with him.

Me: “[Restaurant], how may I help you?”

Customer: “I want spaghetti and meatballs with chicken.”

Me: “We don’t have an option like that; however, I can provide you with a chicken parm and add meatballs. That would include everything you asked for.”

Customer: “So, I’d get a spaghetti, meatballs, and chicken?”

Me: “Yes.”

He agrees and we send the food.

At 4:00 pm, three hours later, I get a call back.

Customer: “I ORDERED A SPAGHETTI AND MEATBALL, AND THIS IS ALL CHICKEN AND CHEESE AND NOTHING ELSE!”

Me: “No, sir, being a chicken parm, the rest is underneath.”

Customer: “The chicken is all soggy. This is too much. I just want my spaghetti!”

Me: “Okay, so take the chicken off? The spaghetti is right underneath.”

Customer: “The chicken is soggy!”

Me: “You ordered three hours ago, sir. Breaded chicken that has been sitting in sauce and cheese for three hours… there’s nothing I can do about that. If you intended on eating at 4:00, we could have accommodated you and delivered the food at 4:00; however, you ordered at 1:00 pm and it’s not something that sits well.”

Customer: “Well, there’s no meatballs. I want just a spaghetti with meatballs! With chicken!”

Me: “As I explained when we spoke earlier, that’s a chicken parm with meatballs, which is exactly what you received.”

Customer: “There are no meatballs in my spaghetti!”

I put him on hold and ask the cook. He says he put them in a separate tin so he could fit everything and still make it presentable.

Me: “The meatballs are in a separate tin.”

Customer: “Well, I know! I’m eating them! What about the meatballs for the spaghetti?!”

Me: “What did you think they were for?”

Customer: “F*** OFF, YOU STUPID B****! I’LL NEVER ORDER FROM YOU AGAIN!”

Me: “Okay, have a good one!” *Click*

Honestly, no tears will be shed that I don’t have to deal with you. Don’t threaten me with a good time!

I work at a popular steakhouse chain that does not have a room for large parties. We have two party sections in my restaurant, and each party section has a couple of four-tops and two-tops and two big tables that can accommodate around sixteen people, maybe seventeen if they squeeze in tight.

We had a party of thirty-five walk in today. They were upset that we couldn’t seat them immediately, so instead of telling them to wait for a party section to open up — which would split the party between two or three servers — my managers sat them at six tables around the restaurant with five different servers taking care of them. That would have been fine on its own, but this party wanted to be on the same ticket. They were rude and really loud, and they kept adding more people throughout their meal. I think they made it up to like forty people.

The best part: they left ten dollars as a tip on a check that was over $600. The tipshare (pooled tips) for that bill was definitely more than $10, so the servers basically got stiffed.

I wish I was making this up. People suck.

It was a busier night at the restaurant I worked in. I was serving a table with one couple and an extra woman. Things went as smoothly as they could’ve for a busy weekend dinner shift, and when I brought the bills — one for the couple and one for the single lady — the lady from the couple grabbed both bills and said she’d pay for it all.

I was a little nervous, kind of expecting the worst, but I brought the machine over, finished the transaction, and got 15% out of it — not the end of the world. After they left, when I went to bus, there was a $10 bill on the table! Nice!

I cleared the table and brought the dishes to the pit. As I walked back into the front, the single lady was walking back inside and flagged me down.

Lady: “Can I have my $10 back, please? I didn’t realize my friend had already tipped.”

Obviously, I’m not entitled to any tip at all — 15% is just fine — but I don’t know how anyone could get their meal for free and then have the guts to walk back into the restaurant to ask a server for their tip back. I could never do that; I’d be mortified. All my coworkers I told about the incident agreed they’d never be able to do that. I was totally taken aback.

I had three tables sat today, and I spent an ungodly amount of time helping a customer pick a cocktail and taking down his modifications. Then, I ended up just changing it to the original one he liked, but…

Customer: “Put it in a different glass, though. I don’t want it in a martini glass; that would look funny.”

It’s not my first rodeo with this type, but come on. He spent this much time being insecure because he didn’t want people laughing at him for a “girly” glass, but trust me, we had a good laugh at his insecurity, instead.

We had a guy come in last night with his date. Throughout the evening, he was the picture of courtesy and good manners. He complimented me, thanked me every time I came to refresh waters or check on the table, made a point to be forgiving of a kitchen mistake, and was super extra nice. He was the dream customer, really.

I appreciated it but didn’t delude myself that I was the source and figured he was just in a good mood because the date was going well. They were chatting, laughing, having a great time, so I assumed I was an indirect beneficiary.

He was certainly in some kind of celebratory mood because he was sparing no expense. He asked for our highest quality wine, she got our most expensive entree, he ordered one of every appetizer for her to sample when she made a remark that she was having trouble deciding — it was a real feast.

The evening started wrapping up and I got their check.

Me: “Together or separate checks?”

The woman started to say, “Separate,” but he made a big deal of saying:

Man: “Oh, are you kidding? Together, definitely together. You never have to pay when you’re with me, babe.”

And so on and so forth. Then, he slid me a credit card. I got everything sorted and brought out the receipt. He filled it out and it came to $289.00 total. He didn’t even blink and made a big show of leaving a HUNDRED-DOLLAR TIP. He thanked me for my service and emphasized what a lovely night they’d had.

Of course, a tip that size is exceptional, so I thanked him profusely.

Man: “There’s no need to thank me! Waitstaff are so underappreciated. Just think of this as a stand-in for all the ingrates who don’t treat you right. Don’t plan to tip, don’t plan to eat out, you know?”

He was looking at the mesmerized girl the whole time and not giving me a glance. I couldn’t care less where he was looking; I was looking at the upcoming hundred bucks. I thanked him again and said I hoped to see them back soon, and that was that.

He helped her into her coat and off they went. Great night, I was riding high.

About ninety seconds later, he was back in the door, without her, going, “I think left my—” Then, when the door shut, he looked to make sure his date was out of earshot, and he turned to address me without the slightest shade of shame or embarrassment.

Man: “Mark the tip down to twenty bucks, hun. I was just playing it up for my date. You understand.”

And he turned to go.

Uh… I understood, but not how he hoped I would. But I couldn’t make a scene in the middle of work — that’s not my place — so I just repeated, in order to give his conscience a chance to sink in:

Me: “Okay, sir. You’d like to amend your tip from one hundred dollars to twenty dollars. Is that correct?”

And even though I didn’t show a hint of displeasure in my voice he shot back, extremely hostile:

Man: “Yes, and if I see a cent over the twenty on there, I’m going to dispute the whole meal with my credit vendor, so don’t try to pull anything.”

The most frustrating part of this for me was not even going from an over 30% tip to under 10%, but rather that this poor girl was being strung along with no idea of who the guy was behind her back. It was extremely manipulative of him, which is a major red flag.

I’ve had my fair share of toxic relationships in the past and really wish someone had pulled the blinders off my eyes, so I desperately wanted to do something to alert this girl to the trick the guy had pulled, hoping it would be a catalyst to her questioning his other actions. But, again, I was at work and that just wasn’t my place. So, I altered the bill and that was that.

Then, just in time, something occurred to me, and I darted outside, hoping to catch them in the parking lot. I got lucky. They’d parked on the street, instead, and he was still dealing with the parking meter. I flagged him down and rushed across the street, nearly stumbling into traffic in my haste for a delicious moment.

His date was already in the car but rolled down her window, since no one expects the waitress to follow you out to your car waving her arms like a crazy person.

I made it across and said, more than loudly enough for her to hear:

Me: “Sir, we amended your tip from $100 down to $20 as you requested, but you’ll actually need to fill out a different receipt reflecting your new total for our records. Your old receipt still has your original tip of $100 written on it, but since you just came in and asked us to charge you $20, instead, we can’t have a discrepancy in our records. I hope you understand. This is just a bookkeeping regulation that goes way above me. It has nothing to do with your retroactively downgrading your tip from $20 to $100; we’re just glad you enjoyed your evening.”

His jaw was on the floor. He tried to pretend as though he didn’t know what I was talking about, trying to give me some line about:

Man: “I think you’re after someone else; I only came back because I forgot my keys.”

But I would not let it rest.

The more he played dumb the more I repeated versions of, “You wanted to change your tip from $100 down to $20, so you came back in,” and on and on.

So we went back and forth for a few more seconds until, finally, he said:

Man: “Okay, whatever. Uh, sorry for the miscommunication. If you need me to fill out a new receipt, I can.”

Me: *Totally even-keeled* “You only need to fill out a new receipt if you want to change your tip from $100 down to $20.”

And I’m guessing he didn’t have the money in his account because… he did it. He filled out the new receipt. His girlfriend was visibly shocked, and the man was staring daggers through me; I could feel the rage emanating off him.

It was vicariously quite satisfying in place of the other toxic men I never did get that confrontation with. And all the bad tippers — ironically, the exact kind he had made a righteous speech decrying just a few minutes beforehand.

And then off they drove, I’m sure never to patronize our restaurant again, but hopefully, never to go out together again, either, which would make it totally worth it.

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